


All The Days Are Summer Now

by Metal_Ox137



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9165574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metal_Ox137/pseuds/Metal_Ox137
Summary: I'm re-posting this short piece after making some minor alterations. I sincerely hope it's still just a work of fiction. More work on "Nocturne" coming soon!





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm re-posting this short piece after making some minor alterations. I sincerely hope it's still just a work of fiction. More work on "Nocturne" coming soon!

It was the middle of winter, and a storm was coming. Rachel sat on her smallish back porch, nursing what was left of a now unappetizingly warm beer, sitting in the dark and listening to the sounds of the desert at night. The air was preternaturally still. Even the animals that normally came out after dark were nowhere to be heard. But Rachel knew the absence of sound too well.  
The heat was oppressive - still well over 104 degrees Fahrenheit more than two hours after sunset. Normally for this time of year, the evening temperature in the low desert should have been at least sixty degrees cooler. But what had been normal was now forever lost.  
Rachel had turned the porch light off, and left the heavy curtains covering the patio door to keep out the light. She looked at the sky overhead. The stars wheeled slowly in the shimmering heat. Not a hint of a cloud. And yet, Rachel knew, in less than an hour, shrieking winds and a great wall of dust would engulf her small cottage; and less than thirty minutes after that, a torrential and furious downpour would flood all the washes and gullies - a half year's worth of rain hammered angrily into the earth in the space of ten or twelve minutes.  
She sighed heavily. Once, her city had been a thriving metropolis. At its peak, the city boasted a population of well over a hundred thousand souls. No more. Most had fled north, in a vain attempt to outrace the inevitable. She could only wish them well. Only a handful like herself remained behind, to meet the inevitable face to face, and shake its hand.  
Rachel swallowed the last of her warm beer. Deciding she might like another, even if it would only stay cold for three minutes, she got wearily out of her patio chair. She wore only a T-shirt and shorts, but they were soaked through with sweat, and clung to her uncomfortably.  
She re-entered her tiny cottage and shut the door and curtains carefully behind her. The only light was from the kitchen, oozing feebly into her living room. The air inside was cooler, but not cool. Electricity for air conditioning was still available, but prohibitively expensive.  
Feeling restive, Rachel peeled off first her soaked shirt, then her shorts and grabbed a soft terrycloth towel from the bathroom. She wiped herself down, collected a fresh T-shirt and shorts from her closet, not really understanding why she even bothered: two minutes outdoors, and those clothes would be as soaked and stale as the ones she had just discarded.  
Sarah would arrive soon. She would bring with her a six pack of beer and a baggie filled with joints. They would sit on the patio, quietly smoking and drinking, watching the night sky until the thunderstorm would force them indoors for safety.  
Rachel went into the bathroom, and though it irked her to do so, she switched on the harsh electric light. For a moment, she stared at her own image in the mirror critically. She was not yet middle-aged, but no longer young. Her long black hair was now liberally threaded with grey strands. Her sullen, sallow face had deep creases that coarsened her expression. She was still slender - she was thankful for that. But she no longer regarded herself as attractive, if she ever really had, even in the bloom of youth. Not that there were any men left in town from whom she would care to have any attention.  
Recognizing her body's immediate needs, she left the mirror and crossed to the toilet, thankful that for now at least a working flush toilet was still available to her.  
Moments later, Rachel returned to the kitchen, and opened the icebox to retrieve a beer, when she heard the sound of tires on crushed gravel. She slipped out through the front door. Sarah's battered pickup truck creaked to a halt on the driveway, its aged engine steaming and banging. A heavy set woman, about thirty years of age, clambered out of the truck.  
"I'll need about a half gallon for the radiator when I leave," Sarah greeted Rachel breathlessly, giving her a sweat-dampened peck on the cheek. She reached inside the cab and pulled out a large brown paper sack, stained wet on the bottom.  
"The taqueria was still open," she exclaimed. "Can you imagine? I got us dinner."  
Rachel could hardly disapprove. They slipped inside the cottage and closed the door tightly behind them.  
Sarah set the bag on the counter and briskly emptied its contents: a baggie of already rolled joints, several small foil wrappers that smelled faintly of roast chicken and vegetables, and a six pack of bottled beer.  
"Now that's a feast," Sarah declared, pushing her long, greasy hair back from her face. Even when clean, Sarah's hair seemed dishwater dirty, never quite deciding whether to be red, blonde or simply filthy. Sarah wore only a soiled pink tube top over her smallish breasts and a pair of cutoff jeans. She was only five foot tall, but close to one hundred and sixty pounds, and most of her extra weight had collected to her belly and hips. The spare flesh of her stomach rolled over the top of her cutoffs. Sarah's entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat, but even in the days when the air still cooled off at night, Sarah's skin was always slick with perspiration, as if she had just finished a marathon of sex.  
She lit one of the joints, took a deep drag, and handed it to Rachel, who took it gratefully. The oily smoke went deep into her lungs, and a moment later, life didn't seem quite so wretched.  
Sarah had collected some plates from the cupboard, and piled the foil wrappers on it, as if to take the meal outside. Rachel shook her head.  
"Let's eat in here," she suggested. "It's safer."  
Sarah nodded sadly, agreeing but not liking to.  
They gathered at the small round coffee table in one corner, opened beers and taco wrappers and set to their modest feast. The chicken was greasy, the tomato, lettuce and cilantro just this side of spoiled, the corn tortillas heavy with lard - but they ate ravenously, and washed it down with beer that was actually cold.  
"Heard the weather?" Rachel asked.  
"Who needs to?" Sarah snorted, licking grease from her fingers. "Fucking hot all day, fucking hot all night, and every other week a storm to blow another foot of dirt off the mountains."  
"It's going to rain tonight."  
"I hope it does," Sarah replied, lighting another joint. "I could do with a bath."  
She inhaled deeply and passed the rest to Rachel. Rachel smiled, a little sadly. Sarah was a generous friend, who would think nothing of taking one drag from a joint and leaving you the rest, because she simply wanted you to be happy and want for nothing. Good hearts like hers were hard to come by, even when times weren't so godawful.  
"I think the last of your neighbors is gone," Sarah confided. "No lights in any house on the street tonight."  
"Was anyone left?" Rachel asked, bemused. She'd barely noticed.  
"There was that one house on the corner that was always lit up. It's all dark now."  
"Huh. Guess I'm the last one on this block then."  
"So, when is the university closing down?" Sarah asked.  
Rachel made a noncommittal shrug of the shoulders. She didn't know and didn't especially care.  
"Aren't you worried what you're going to do when your job ends?" Sarah pressed, her plump face lined with concern.  
"There doesn't seem much point," Rachel sighed at least, contemplating another swig of her beer. "One more year like this last one, we won't have a city, let alone an economy. Who's going to collect rent from me, if all the landlords have left town?"  
"And why haven't you left town?" Sarah wanted to know. "You could still make a living somewhere else."  
"Oh, really? Like where?" Rachel's reply came out sounding far more derisive than she intended.  
"I dunno, California maybe?"  
"California? Alongside all those poor Mexican refugees with their backs up against an ocean filled with radioactive sewage?"  
"Well, Canada then. Just go north."  
"Their climate's no better. And the news wires say they aren't letting any more Americans across the border."  
Sarah took a thoughtful swig from her beer. "I just don't like the thought of you living here all by yourself," she said finally. Both women understood what was really meant was "dying", but Sarah couldn't bring herself to say that.  
"I'm not alone," Rachel pointed out. "I have you."  
"Yeah, but, sweetie, I hate to think this is how you're going to end your days," Sarah was almost pleading now. "You're smart, you're still good looking, and there are still a few places where the weather's not completely crazy yet. I heard that Spokane just had its best growing season ever. You could get a decent job, get your holes filled now and then by some good looking men, enjoy what time is left, instead of sitting around here, staring at boiling dirt until the end times come."  
"I don't mind it here," Rachel said sincerely. "Really. I don't."  
Sarah gave in for the moment, and began carefully folding the now emptied foil wrappers into neat little compact squares. Displacement activity, Rachel noted.  
"I get scared sometimes," Sarah confided in a small voice. "You know. About what's happening. About what's going to happen."  
"We can't stop it," Rachel said quietly.  
"I know, but it all seems so... stupid," Sarah grimaced.  
"We've had it better than most," Rachel pointed out. "We weren't in Fukushima. Or in the Philippines. Or even Haiti. Those people went through literal hell before they died. When our time comes, it will be quiet here. No riots. No gunfire. No screaming."  
She reached over and squeezed Sarah's hand. In spite of the oppressive heat, her skin felt cold and clammy. "Hey," she said softly. "Come on. We've had good lives, haven't we?"  
"I know." Sarah exhaled and discreetly wiped away a tear. "I just thought...I would get to grow old, you know? That I would be married... and have a whole passel of taters underfoot, screaming and yelling, stealing each other's toys all day long, setting fire to the dog, smearing honey mustard on the T.V. set... you know, normal shit. That normal people get to do."  
Rachel made a small 'hmf' of amusement, not quite a laugh.  
"No, really, I think I would make a great mom," Sarah protested.  
"Yes, you would," Rachel agreed solemnly. "You'd make a terrific mom."  
"But I'll never get to find out, will I?" Sarah asked despairingly.  
Rachel studied Sarah's face for a long moment. Then she went over to the small fridge and pulled out two more beers.  
"Let's go sit outside now," she suggested.  
The heat hadn't let up in the slightest, and the women settled into the patio chairs as comfortably as they could.  
"Look up there," Rachel pointed. "See those stars there? That's Orion. The Christmas constellation."  
Sarah frowned, not comprehending. "Why is it called the Christmas constellation?"  
Rachel shrugged. "That's just me. I call it that because you only see it in the wintertime. When I was little, I used to imagine I had a string tied to it, like a big box kite." She smiled in the darkness. "And every time I see it, it's just so damn beautiful. And it won't change. Not in our lifetime. For as long as you and I are around, it will always be a sight worth seeing."  
The faintest hint of a breeze stirred in the hot air, not cooling, just moving. Rachel wrinkled her nose. She couldn't smell the dust yet, but it was surely coming.  
"It is kind of pretty," Sarah admitted, taking another swig of beer, preferring to drink while the liquid was still cold.  
"The stars are amazing," Rachel sighed, settling back in the chair. "For most all of human history, people would do what we're doing now, just look up at the stars all night and marvel at them. Make up stories about them. No city lights, no street lamps, no other light except maybe a fire in a pit. There's been barely a hundred years since we had the technology to light up the night so that nobody could see the stars. And we forgot all about them. About how beautiful they are. How important they are. People used to plan their whole lives around the stars."  
"Horoscopes," Sarah snorted.  
"Planting crops, planning weddings, traveling to distant places..." Rachel countered, but mostly just musing to herself.  
Sarah belched audibly, the food and drink and smoke momentarily dulling the worst of her anxieties. Echoing her exhalation was a faint, distant rumble. Rachel leaned forward in her chair.  
"What is it?" Sarah asked.  
"Ssh," Rachel whispered. "Listen."  
They sat in silence. The rumble repeated, still faint, still at the furthest edge of hearing. The hot breeze picked up noticeably.  
"Thunder?"  
"The storm's about thirty minutes away."  
"Is it coming here?" In spite of the heat, Sarah shivered.  
"We'll know soon enough."  
Sarah made a face in the dark. "I hate dust storms."  
"Me, too," Rachel admitted sympathetically. "But I'll take the rain any day, as long as it doesn't flood."  
They listened in silence for a time, marveling at the stillness. But the muted rumbles began to grow in volume and frequency, and the wind began to pick up. The hot breeze was still gentle, but persistent now; its gentleness would be short lived. One by one, the stars were blotted out by a relentlessly advancing line of storm clouds.  
"We'll have to go inside soon," Rachel sighed.  
"Let's wait until the dust gets here," Sarah suggested. "I hate being cooped up inside."  
"All right," Rachel agreed. She got up from the chair, stood at the edge of the porch and scanned the horizon. From the intermittent flashes of lightning, she could make out the shape of angry thunderheads building in the south. They still seemed a long way off, but Rachel regarded them warily. She knew only too well how fast storms could travel. She returned to her chair.  
"Time for one last joint?" she asked.  
Sarah nodded. She pulled out two this time, one for each of them, carefully lit them and handed one to Rachel.  
Rachel inhaled appreciatively. "This is good shit," she said. "Thanks."  
"Easier to grow when you don't have to worry about cops," Sarah shrugged.  
"There are still some police left in town, aren't there?"  
"Yeah, they're my brother's best customers."  
Rachel couldn't help laughing out loud at that remark.  
"It's true," Sarah insisted. "They always pay cash or bring something good for barter. One guy brought us a whole bottle of reposado from Mexico."  
"Really."  
"They always seem a little... I dunno. Too polite. Too nice. Like they feel sorry for us. That they can't do more. That there's nothing more to do."  
"Courteous police, a sure sign of the Apocalypse."  
"Don't start," Sarah sighed.  
"Actually, the literal translation of 'Apocalypse' is, the will of God revealed. It never actually meant the end of the world. That's just something we tacked on later."  
"Like it matters." Sarah studied the horizon. "That's a wall of dust, isn't it?"  
She pointed, and Rachel nodded.  
"Yes, it is."  
"You got any bourbon left?"  
"Inside. Just for you."  
"Good. Let's get hammered."  
They had just closed the patio door behind them when the first hard gusts of wind shook the house. Sand grains sizzled against the glass.  
The women returned to the kitchen. Rachel took out an old, disused bottle of bourbon and two deep shot glasses. She carefully poured out a full amount in each glass. Around them, they could hear the wind began to howl in earnest, its gusts banging at the shutters like fists. Rachel handed one of the shot glasses to Sarah.  
"Thanks," she murmured appreciatively, and sipped slowly at her drink.  
Rachel regarded her own shot glass for a moment, mulling a toast; then decided she couldn't come up with anything that wasn't downright morbid. _Here's to the end of life on Earth,_ she thought to herself. _Well, it was nice while it lasted._ She sipped her bourbon in silence.  
After taking two slow sips, Sarah knocked back the rest of her shot glass in one gulp and banged her glass on the table. The wind banged on the kitchen shutters in reply.  
"Do you remember when January used to be cold?" Sarah sighed after a long silence. "I miss cold."  
Rachel nodded dolefully. "I miss lots of things."  
The conversation paused as the whole house shook in the storm gusts. Sarah and Rachel exchanged worried glances, both thinking the same thing. Not much was left of the roof.  
Another deep shudder left the whole building shaking, and then a thunderclap like a cannon shot momentarily deafened them.  
Ears ringing, the women retreated to the living room, the bottle of bourbon in tow. They sat huddled together on the couch, clinging to each other despite the heat, fearfully listening to the storm raging outside.  
A few moments later, the patter of fat raindrops could be heard striking the roof and windows. Rachel sighed with relief. The worst of the wind was always ahead of the rain.  
In moments the entire cottage was engulfed in a hollow seashell roar as water fell from the sky in great sheets. Rachel got up off the couch, lit a single candle and left it in the living room on the coffee table. She turned off the electric lights in the kitchen, then pulled back the heavy curtains from the patio door.  
The thick glass was throbbing and shuddering from the force of the water being thrown against it. The pressure of the storm was low enough that Rachel could feel the imbalance in her inner ear. She pinched her nose and blew out through her ears to equalize the pressure.  
She returned to the couch and poured another bourbon for Sarah, then one for herself. They sipped their drinks in silence, watching the violence of the wind and rain with something approaching awe.  
As quickly as it had come, the rain began to lessen. Sensing the storm was passing, Rachel stood up.  
"Is it safe to go out?" Sarah asked apprehensively.  
"Time for a bath," Rachel grinned in the near darkness. A muted rumble of thunder confirmed that the worst of the storm had passed by them.  
Rachel opened the patio door and cautiously stepped out. The cement was covered by a good two inches of standing water. Sarah stepped out behind Rachel, who closed the door; then they stood at the edge of the patio.  
The rain was just barely cool; it was nearer the temperature of bathwater. The water on the patio, soaking up the heat from the dirt and the concrete, was already as warm as if it had come from a shower. Each woman quickly stripped off her modest attire, and they stood naked in the rain, letting the water wash over their bodies.  
Less than five minutes later, the rain dwindled away to nothing but drizzle; an uncommonly gentle breeze assured them the storm was now over. Wiping themselves off with their hands, but otherwise not bothering to dry themselves or dress, Rachel and Sarah returned to the patio chairs. Rachel poured them each one last bourbon - the bottle was now empty - and they sat in companionable silence, listening to the storm as it hurtled away into the distance.  
Rachel thought of all the things that she and Sarah would never say, just as she would never say anything to the rapidly disappearing colleagues from her office at the university. She was not bitter, but it did seem an awful waste. What do you say to anyone, when the world is ending? _It is not just a personal tragedy,_ she thought. _For the first time in human history, there will be no generations of sons and daughters to follow us. In a handful of years, no humans will be left alive on the planet. Not a single person will remain. The planet will be barren, and, save for the hardiest of plants and insects, utterly lifeless._  
Extinction. The scientists had warned about it for decades, in increasingly shrill and alarming tones, and not one person took the slightest notice. Many laughed, and called them liars or fools or worse. _No one listens to Cassandra,_ Rachel thought, draining the last of her bourbon.  
Every day she undertook any activity with acute knowledge she might be doing it for the very last time. She greeted the shrinking pool of people she met with the understanding she might very likely never see them again. But the idea that no one would be left behind to carry on - even if she could understand the concept in the abstract, she couldn't wrap her head around it. It was too forbidding.  
Tonight, she knew, was the last night she would ever see Sarah, speak to her, share meals with her. She didn't know how she knew it, but she instinctively understood it, and she was filled with a great, inconsolable sadness.  
It was almost dawn when Sarah reluctantly got up to leave. The two women held each other in a tight embrace for a long time, each one not wanting to let the other go. Eventually, they separated, fumbled for their clothes, and weeping silent tears, returned to the driveway where Sarah filled the radiator of her ancient pickup truck.  
"God save you," Sarah whispered as she pulled Rachel close in one fierce and final hug. "I love you so much."  
"Maybe we'll meet in heaven," Rachel murmured, fat tears squeezing out from her closed eyes.  
"I hope we do. I'll bring the beer."  
Sarah climbed into the cab of the pickup, put the key in the ignition and with great reluctance the creaking engine turned over. The tailpipe belched, and the truck pulled slowly away.  
Rachel watched it go, and once again she felt a tug she couldn't even begin to understand or comprehend. Already the oppressive heat had returned. The storm had barely cooled the immediate area for the space of a few hours. The next day would be hotter still. She vaguely remembered hearing a forecast of one hundred and thirty two degrees Fahrenheit - by mid-morning. Soon, there would be no more forecasts.  
The sky was lightening in the east. The sun would be up in another hour. The scudding clouds would blunt the worst of the heat for a couple of hours. Best to sleep while there was still a chance of coolness. But Rachel knew she would not sleep.  
_It takes the patience of the damned to sit through the end of the world,_ she thought to herself. But that was rather the point. The damned stayed because they had nowhere else to go.  
She re-entered the cottage and took one last beer from the fridge. She returned to the couch and spread herself across it. There was still time to make it to one of the nearby shelters, but she knew she wasn't going to go. She took a slow swig of the cold liquid. There was no point in running any more.  
She felt a great sense of peace and well-being washing over her. In the end comes acceptance. Maybe not understanding, but acceptance. Maybe someone would find her afterwards, maybe they wouldn't. It wouldn't make any difference. If anyone still believes in God, well then, maybe we are all in God's hands now.  
Rachel drifted off, and as her breathing turned ragged in the increasing heat, she dreamed of winter, and seeing the first snowflakes fall.


End file.
